Imbroglio
by Carnivorous Pineapple
Summary: To say that I was surprised to see her is an understatement. KOTOR oneshot, LSF RevanCarth. Dustil POV.


To say that I was surprised to see her is an understatement.

It had started off as an ordinary day of vacation; I slept in later than my master would have ever let me, shoveled down a few slices of toast, read a couple chapters of the latest holonovel before taking a look at the latest homework pad. (Twenty-six years old and still a padawan; it used to be embarrassing, but now it doesn't bother me so much. After all, I _did_ get a late start.) The door chime interrupted a particularly interesting section on Jedi archaeological digs, so I may have been a little slow to answer, but when the door slid open I forgot all about holocrons and temples.

I have to confess that it took me a second to recognize her; nine years of not seeing someone can do that. She looked older; one eye was black and blue and a nasty scar jagged down one cheek and across her mouth. Her hair was longer and her clothes—they might have been Jedi robes once—were faded, patched and re-patched. A blaster was strapped to her leg and her utility belt was loaded with survival-food capsules and stims; her lightsaber was curiously absent. One small bag slung over her shoulder was the only thing she carried.

"Hello, Dustil," she said with a tired smile as I stood there staring at her.

The first thing I felt besides surprise was a flash of hot, indignant anger. Not a word of news for eight years, not even a simple _"I'm still alive,"_ and here she shows up out of the blue, perfectly alive and, it seems clear by her arrival at the Onasi residence, looking to pick up where she left off with someone who's thought her dead for years now—

I automatically fell into a quick recitation of the Code, stamping out that flare before it turned into something nastier. She deserved a chance to explain everything before I went hating on her willy-nilly and flirting with the Dark Side again.

So instead of saying the first thing that came to mind—_"Where the _frack_ have you been and what have you been doing?!"_—I just said, "Hello, Revan."

She didn't wince visibly, but I felt a little pinprick of displeasure in the Force at the name that had just popped out of my mouth. Apparently she still preferred the name the Council had given her; maybe that meant that no more memories had surfaced while she was gone. In any case, she didn't comment on it as I groped for something more tactful to say. _"How've you been"_ would be absurd; prying for information could mean poking into official, private, or painful business; her time in the Unknown Regions had clearly not been peaceful—I guessed that she had other, probably more serious injuries than the two on her face.

"Is Carth here?"

I almost jumped, even though the question was inevitable. She had me rattled already, and I was dreading the explanation I would have to give her. I cleared my throat and tried to stall. I just needed a minute to think. Dad had some unpredictable hours at work; the last thing I wanted was for him to show up. Sithspit. There was no happy ending for this scenario.

"Um…let's…go somewhere else. There's a nice Ithorian garden nearby…"

She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly but gave a short nod. "Lead the way."

We walked to the garden in complete silence. My tentative probes into the Force to gauge her mood were completely ineffective; she was like a grim brick wall. If she decided to do something drastic after our conversation, the Force sure wasn't going to give me any warning.

There were a quite a few people in the garden—they're something of a hotspot on Citadel Station—but we found a secluded corner, mostly shielded by neatly manicured bushes and flowering trees. As soon as we were out of sight of the other visitors, she turned so quickly we nearly collided; the look on her face was enough to stop me dead in my tracks.

"All right, Dustil. Tell me," she said flatly. I took a deep breath, suppressed another flash of anger, and met her gaze evenly. There was no way to sugarcoat it.

"Dad's married."

I'd expected surprise, anger, maybe a homicidal rage or a meltdown, but her dead stare was more unnerving than anything else could have been—and in the Force, her wall cracked. The jolt of jumbled emotion that leaked through was enough to make take a step back in surprise; then the shields slammed back up, and she sank down onto a bench, her composed expression finally cracking.

That was when my tenuous hold on my anger snapped. I felt sorry for her—but I remembered the nights that dad spent sitting at the table with a mug of caf in one hand and a datapad of search information in the other--nights when he came home late, tired and his face full of worry even if he insisted he was fine. Our relationship has been mostly canyons with a couple of hills, but after the Sith business things finally started looking up between us, and shavit, I resented her for what she put him through!

"You were gone for _nine years._" She stiffened at the venom in my voice, but it was too late to stop to flood. "Just picked up and left without a good-bye, and not a word for almost a _decade_! Did you really expect him to wait around for you forever?" I forced down whatever I was going to say next and took another deep breath.

"Do you know what you did?" It came out in a hiss. "For a year all he did was look for you. That was his _life_. Lived, breathed, and slept for the next bit of news or report. He finally gave up and went back to work, but he didn't stop hoping and watching and staying up late waiting for you to walk in the door. He waited for _seven years. What did you expect?"_

The dead look in her eyes when she raised her head was enough to stop me. I snapped my mouth shut and waited. She was silent for a long moment; finally she stood, slowly.

"You're right." Her voice was flat, quiet. "I'm sorry." She moved away, but paused. "Forget I came. Let him think I'm dead." A pause. "I hope he's happy." It was just a wistful murmur; then she was leaving.

"Wait," I called, shaken by her reaction and regretting my outburst. She half turned, drawing her battered cloak closer although the garden was warm.

"Did…did you find what you went looking for?"

For a second, I thought she wouldn't respond; then she closed her eyes and laughed, short and bitter. "I found nothing."

Then she was gone.


End file.
